You didn’t drink that?

Good morning from the towers of The Word. Just a few days more to enter our contest, using as a prompt You Didn’t Write That.  Donna Kuhn has stopped by for a visit to get some of our clean ocean air and to mail a letter down by the beach.  Written in Sandscrit, no doubt.  …

Good morning from the towers of The Word.

Just a few days more to enter our contest, using as a prompt You Didn’t Write That.  Donna Kuhn has stopped by for a visit to get some of our clean ocean air and to mail a letter down by the beach.  Written in Sandscrit, no doubt.  Wish you folks could join me for coffee here.  Hey, while I have you here, check out Theresa Ann’s ongoing play Let’s Make a Scene.  Leave a comment in the box, either for her or addressed to her characters. (Ted is such scum, regardless of what Ashley thinks) And by all means leave comments and press the “Like” buttons on Donna’s story and others that you read.

gotta go!  Someone cut Catalina Island adrift and it is headed towards the beach just four blocks from here.  In the meantime here is Donna’s contribution to our contest.  Thank you my dear!

 

End of Summer Romance

by Donna Kuhn

 

The night air wafting into my room smelled like the interior of a beer bottle. When the summer breeze blew just right, all the sickening aromas of the breweries, the yeast factory, the slaughterhouses, and the tanneries came together into a pungent, putrid, panorama of odors that assaulted the senses and turned the stomach. I wanted to close the window, but the thought of spending the night suffocating in a hot, airless room on sweat-soaked sheets was even less appealing than inhaling that horrible smell. I lay there, sweltering, listening to the crickets chirping, until I fell asleep.

When I awoke in the morning, I thought about last night and the letter I had scribbled to my boyfriend who had just dumped me. I padded into the kitchen to re-read my impassioned letter. I wasn’t asking him to take me back; I just wanted him to know how I felt about him and our relationship. I thought miserably, “You didn’t write that, did you?” Ah, but I did, and after a few revisions I actually mailed it. I never received a response, nor did I expect one, but getting those thoughts out of my head helped me move on.

“I am able to write because I have disposable thumbs… Oh? really?…OK, I have opposable thumbs” Donna Coon

 

 

Best not to keep things bottles up inside

 

5 comments

  1. Diane Cresswell says:

    Wow I was smelling those ‘fragrances’ and that tells me you have a wonderful way with words!  Sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.  And saying it, writing it or even thinking it – it helps.  Good levels here Donna.

  2. Society can get pretty silty, and your discription of the catalyltic rubbish heap is perfectly receptive.  Unfortunate the protagonist had to deal with it.  But she reads strong and able to get on.  Nice.

  3. KYLE says:

    It all smells pretty bad when you’re being dumped. Newly dumped can be blaring, that even the crickets  chirping can distract enough to put you to sleep. Some minor relief from a broken heart. But the turning of the tides does seem to come from the empowerment of writing  and sending…or burning the words over a fine glass of wine. I enjoyed this!

  4. Tlrelf says:

    Nice scene-setting in the first paragraph and I was feeling – and smelling – it. I’m surprised your protagonist could fall asleep. I know I wouldn’t be able to.

    Nice alliteration, too, and I think the aromatic descriptions, while a bit hyperbolic, does wonders for the complexion and reinforces the character’s state-of-mind and emotions. Our thoughts and emotions definitely affect our environs.

    So, as to paragraph 2, epistolary writing rules, doesn’t it? I’ve written a few of those letters myself. 

  5. Chalice Divine says:

    Fantastic closure…yes yes. love the descriptives, the melancholies, the pathos, and the brave editing before releasing the words. Quite moving… yes.

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